


My gift to you

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [44]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Multiple, Season/Series 05, Slow Build, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-04-29 15:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14475762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: Six years on the ring felt like a dream. Now it's time to wake up.or the end of Echo and Bellamy's relationship and the beginning of another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You all know I am a fierce defender of Recho, and the fact that the series made Becho canon instead of my preferred pairing, was kind of a bummer. Especially because I believe Bellarke is endgame.  
> So, I set out to make the inevitable breakup as fair to Echo's character as humanly possible.
> 
> "Slightly" edited on the 30th of Aril.

Echo sits on the windowsill and watches the ship hanging in the dark silence of space. Her sword lies across her thighs, whetstone forgotten in her hand.

The world feels unreal, like the second before waking from a pleasant dream. It’s that soft, weightless feeling in the heartbeats between noticing you’re dreaming and wakefulness. A part of her wants to continue dreaming; to fight and rebel against the Spirits and the sun and the world that wants to take everything dear from here.

Stars wink in merriment at that very thought.

She knows she’ll never rebel. She’ll do as her leader commands, because that is what she is, no matter how much her people try to convince her of the contrary.

_At the end of the day I’m but a dog at my master’s feet and if he wishes for me to die, I’ll obey and die a happy death._

Echo shudders remembering the words her teachers beat into her very bones and fights the urge to curl her legs against her chest, knowing full well that if her commander were to ask of her to step out of the Ring and into the vast emptiness of space, she would do it without hesitation.

Her eyes fall on the bed, and her heart is so full of _sentiment_ it twists painfully.

 _Except he_ would never do that because he isn’t a master or a commander or a king. He’s Bellamy. Kind, fair Bellamy, whose compassion is only rivaled by his strength. But that is worse because in his idealistic mind Primefaya has made the rest of the world kinder. Echo knows that is not the way of the world.

“Nothing is going to change.” The set of his mouth was so earnest when he said those words. He said them like he can singlehandedly make them real. Echo desperately wants to believe them. But to she’s the cynic to his idealism.

The spy runs her tongue over her teeth.

It would be nice. For a moment she tries to imagine the future he paints: a world in which she’s lucky and Octavia doesn’t execute her on sight. A world in which Octavia lifts her banishment, and she’s allowed to stay with her people. In which she isn’t stripped of everything she's ever loved - again.

Thinking about that inevitably reminds her of her sweet Paddy, and the illusion shatters.

_Count your blessings, child, and give thanks._

The Queen’s men carved her idealism out of her. They taught her to cherish every kindness. That is what these last few years have been: a kindness from skaikru, a blessing from the Great Spirits.

Echo presses the whetstone to her sword.

The chances of Octavia being as merciful as her brother are slim at best. Best case scenario, she’ll be banished, again. Echo is not delusional enough to believe Bellamy would ever leave his people behind for _her_.

For six years she’s been dreaming. It’s time to wake up.

 

 

The bunker has a very distinct smell. The spy doesn’t need to see the stains on floors and walls to know that blood has been shed in here. Multiple times. In great quantities. It takes her very little probing to find out exactly how much was spilled and why. Echo knows she should go with this information to her leader, but the knowledge will serve very little at the moment, so she goes to Raven, in case they need it at some time and she is unable to convey it.

As was to be expected, Octavia isn’t pleased to see Echo, but the overall happiness of being reunited with her brother puts off the execution.

This is familiar territory. The interminable wait for the other shoe to drop, the imminent threat of punishment, is something Echo is - was, once upon a time- intimately used to. Queen Nia enjoyed seeing her subjects squirm. Retribution could loom for weeks: a shadow to keep you awake at night. Echo doubts Octavia has the same level of self-restraint but, for the moment, she’s allowed to sleep in Bellamy’s room and eat a few morsels in the mess hall.

The presence of the Eligious Kru has put a damper on the massive exodus from the bunker, Octavia is biding her time before setting off to Eden with her people. A few hundred people have migrated from the inside to the crumbling ruins of Polis, so the halls are less crowded than when Spacekru first unearthed the bunker's doors.

“I was there, I know!”

Echo stops dead in her tracks. Bellamy’s voice has an authority to it that has always made her knees go weak. It commands her attention no matter where she is or what she’s doing. The spy isn’t sure if it is because he’s her leader or because he’s Bellamy.

“Then you know why she was banished.” Octavia’s voice burns like poison.

“That was over six years ago.”

“Oh, well, then I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” The sarcasm makes the hairs on the back of Echo’s neck stand on end. Her hand itches for a knife. Itches to slam the door open and stand between the two siblings. To protect her…

“That is not what I mean, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know it.”

Bellamy takes a deep breath. Echo can nearly see him: forcing his fists to uncurl, his shoulders down, those beautiful almond eyes wide and sad and pleading.

“We’ve all done stuff we regret.” Pause. “Please, O, I love her.”

The silence that follows is terrible. It’s the sound of the beast about to pounce, the hunter containing his breath before releasing the arrow, the last heartbeat before death.

“Then I hope nobody puts a bullet in her brain.”

It sounds less like a threat and more like a promise.

 

 

Echo sits cross-legged on the small room’s floor, praying beads threaded through her fingers, eyes crossed. She’s grown used to praying with the constant hum of machinery in the background, the taste of slightly stale air in the back of her throat. The Ring wasn’t as silent as the bunker is, nor is the sound of air filtration systems the same – where is that slightly metallic twang to it? – But the differences are not enough to distract her from her prayers. 

She remembers the first few weeks on the Ring: how the machines, the sounds, and smells reminded her of the Mountain. How she would sometimes enter a room and feel like she was back underground, about to shoved into a small cage and drained from her blood. How she relieved those awful memories over and over until she was sure she had died and her soul was trapped beneath the earth.

Who would’ve thought she would ever willingly spend time underground in another _bunker_? Who would’ve thought she would sit inside this garish mountain and miss another tech-filled hell-hole? But at least the Ring was _her_ hell-hole…

The air shifts. The spy doesn’t need to open her eyes to know the door has been quietly opened, Bellamy stopping in the doorway.

Her partner doesn’t know how to deal with her faith. He never had any of his own, and her rituals take him aback even after such a long time.

Echo knows that, if she opens her eyes right now, she’ll see him hovering on the threshold, unsure if he has to leave her alone to finish up if his presence bothers her somehow - it never could. 

Her heart beats twice, and she knows that, if she opens her eyes now, she’ll see him closing the door behind his back, careful not to disturb her, and tiptoeing his way to the other side of the room.

She finishes her prayer, opens her eyes.

In the five days since they arrived back on earth, Bellamy’s lost the relaxed curve of his shoulders. There is a line etched between his eyes that wasn’t there before. He’s clenching his teeth like he did on the Ring only when Murphy was at his worst.

“I didn’t want to intrude,” he says like he always does.

“You didn’t,” she answers like she always does. “I finished.”

Bellamy hums and plops down on the floor beside her. 

“I will go with Miller to scout the Eligious Kru camp.”

Bellamy sighs. “You don’t have to go.”

Ever since discovering the threat about the Eligious Kru he’s been loath to part with any member of Spacekru.  She understands the sentiment. After finding out what transpired in this bunker, Echo isn't thrilled to leave any member of Spacekru in here, either. But the truth is that her presence is more of a risk than her absence. 

Octavia has had six years to learn all about grounder politics. She had Trikru whispering in her ear. She knows she cannot show any weakness and having a publicly exiled _loufa_ in her house is probably a great show of weakness. It could easily turn into Spacekru landing in the fighting ring upstairs. Most of Spacekru can hold their own in a fight, but not all of them.

“Yes, I do.”

“O will come ‘round.” His voice is full of fire, eyes hard; the hand on her knee extremely gentle.

“Come now, Bell." she pushes a playful smile on her lips and hopes it looks more genuine than it feels. "Surely my commander trusts me enough to go on a simple recon mission.”

“Your mission is to protect your people,” he growls stubbornly.

“I am a spy. I will be way more useful gathering information for _you_ , while Miller gets it for Won-Kru’s commander.” Echo smiles and pecks him on the corner of the mouth, on the small patch of soft skin between his lip and beard. If she were feeling genuinely playful, she would bite the dip in his chin instead. Bellamy chuckles darkly, the hand on her knee traveling up her thigh before raking his blunt nails over the sensitive scar tissue of an old wound. Even with her pants on, the feeling jolts her up.

“I know what this is about, and I am not having it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Echo tells his chin.

His other hand goes to her braid, pulling lightly at the nape of her neck, forcing her to look him in the eye. “You found out about my conversation with O.” It isn’t a question, and she doesn’t answer. Bellamy sighs, his grip slackening. “I told you: nothing will change.”

Echo smiles at his blatant denial.

“Then don’t change it.” His hair is getting too long again. She’ll have to cut it before leaving, or she’ll come back to a Marcus Kane lookalike. “Don’t coddle me. You know your sister won’t tell you everything. I am a spy. Use me.” Her eyes drop to his collarbone. “This is my calling. Let me be of use to our people.” She still feels a thrill speaking those words: _our people_.

Bellamy sighs. His thumb tapping on the old scar on her thigh. “I…” he shakes his head, dropping it to her shoulder. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to go. You belong to our people. Wherever I go, you can come, too.”

She feels safe with his arms come around her.

_Count your blessings, child._

“I love you, too.”

 

 

Next morning Bellamy is the one to fasten her scabbard to her belt before leaving their room. They meet Octavia, her entourage, Millar and his partner at the bunker’s mouth. Spacekru is there, too. They bid their farewells with tight hugs and claps on the back. Raven stuffs a small radio into the backpack Bellamy’s carrying for the spy. “I found you a bow” Bellamy offers when his turn for goodbyes comes, his features carefully schooled. He hands her the backpack and fumbles a little with the straps, adjusting it for her. It's unnecessary and endearing. “And I packed you a few extra rations, just to be safe.” Echo’s heart twists, she breathes his scent in when he envelopes her in a warm hug, crushing her against his chest. “ _Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim_ ” he whispers in her ear, his beard scratching the side of her face. Echo smiles and repeats the Skaikru blessing in their language: “May we meet again.”

Miller kisses his partner and then they’re setting towards Eligius Kru’s camp. It promises to be a long and tedious two-day trek, but an hour after leaving the Polis' ruins back her traveling companion breaks the silence: “You and Bellamy, huh?”

Miller smiles, his thumbs hooked on the straps of his own backpack. He carries one of skaikru's trusty rifles and a handgun strapped to his thigh.

“What do you mean?”

The world around them is a vast, bleak brown desert. The sun is mercilessly hot against their backs, underlining just how out of shape they are after six years locked up.

“You’re together?" Miller pants. "How did that happen?”

If Echo were vain, she might take the question as a veiled insult. But she isn’t vain, and there is no malice in Miller’s tone, just the mild curiosity that creeps into the voice of quiet people when they’re extremely interested.

“We were in a spaceship for six years.”

Miller chuckles. Their feet kick up dust clouds with every step. “It’s still strange hearing grounders talk about spaceships.”

Echo grunts noncommittally and shifts her backpack on her sweaty shoulders.

“So, it’s serious between you two?”

“Yes.”

“How long has it been going on?”

“It’ll be three years next month.”

“I’m glad” Miller’s voice is sincere if a little jealous. Considering what his life probably looked like underground, Echo can't say she blames him. “I’m glad you guys were happy up there.”

The spy clears her throat. "How long have you and your partner been together?”

His face grows softer, his eyes lighter. “A little after Primefaya. So… nearly six years.”

She feels a thrill humming in her veins.

For her, there had only been one partner before Bellamy, years ago, when she was still training under Haiplana Nia. The memories of her sweet stable boy – Paddy – are bittersweet and painful, her queen’s words twisting her heart: _This is the moment you slay your childish sentiment and become a woman._

That illicit relationship lasted all of two months and ended brutally with his blood all over her hands and his horrified dead eyes staring at her, his mouth open in a silent plea for mercy. _Count your blessings, child, and give thanks._

That she’d be allowed to keep her lover for three whole years feels unreal. That their relationship could last six, seven, ten years, seems unimaginable.

As the day progresses, Miller continues to prob and ask about every member of Spacekru. As a spy, Echo considers every question and chooses every word carefully before answering. But the longer they walk, the more obvious it becomes that Miller isn’t fishing for information for her commander. His questions are too mundane, too carelessly formulated. He’s just curious about the lives they’ve lived, about how his _friends_ have been. It is a weird reminder of the fact that Spacekru has only existed for all of six years. Her people were his before, and he has a longer history with them than she’ll ever have.

Something in her gut twists uncomfortably. _Useless sentiment, you've grown soft_.

“What about Murphy? He and Emori seem… Tense.”

Tense doesn’t begin to describe how their relationship was in the Ring. Down here, though, they’ve seamlessly reverted to trusting mainly each other. Echo, Murphy and Bellamy’s little stint on the Eligious spaceship seemingly reminding Emori of the genuine possibility of losing Murphy for good.

“They’re working things out.”

“That’s good. They’re good for each other, I think?” Miller looks at her for confirmation. Echo can't really concentrate on him.

They're are surrounded only by scorched dunes; the wind, cutting their faces with sand knives, is their only companion. Her mouth is bone dry, her hands are bright red from the sun, and she feels bloated and sluggish. Miller’s dark skin shimmers with sweat, his breath heavy and laborious.

“We shared a cell, Murphy and I,” he offers without being prompted. “Back on the Ark.” Miller swallows twice. “Did he set things on fire in the Ring, too?”

Echo swallows a mouthful of dry air and chokes out dust. Maybe she should’ve listened to Bellamy and stayed in the bunker.  

“Hey! Echo!” The spy blinks. Her companion has stopped a few feet away from here, arms braced on his knees, mouth open, panting like a dog. “Try to concentrate on something else.” Something other than the heat and the blisters forming on the nape of her neck and the air that is too thick and too heavy to fill her lungs properly.

She nods. “Murphy.” She says, trying to organize her thoughts. “Yes. He… He stole a big bucket and would set it on fire every now and then. It drove Monty and Harper nuts.” She had secretly loved it and often found her way to his room when he was in a funk. She taught him twenty different ways of lighting his bucket on fire. It was their secret. 

“Yeah, when we were in the skybox he had a candle. I honestly don’t have a clue where he got it, but, he hid under his bunk and lit it whenever he was having a bad day.” Miller chuckles dryly and ends up coughing; he pulls his shirt over his mouth and nose. “It freaked me out because I was sure he would end up setting the whole room on fire. Fire on the Ark was forbidden, you know? Too dangerous with the limited air supply.” He side-eyes her. “Did you know they convicted him for setting a room on fire?"

“Yes, he told me.” Murphy was trying to freak her out when he told her. It was two years ago, during one of his worst days. Murphy watch had fallen to her – Echo can’t remember why anymore. The fox refused to eat Monty’s algae when she brought him a plate. He spat and cursed and screamed and slammed himself into her. And when that didn’t drive her away, he tried intimidation. He told her about his crimes – not that awful –, and his desires – not that threatening. When that failed to drive her away, too, his anger boiled over. It is a cold, harsh thing, Murphy’s anger: always ugly and always brutally sincere. “Azgeda should've been whipped out,” he said once. “Every. Last. One. of you. I'll destroy you.”

“Come on then. Have at it.” Sparring with Murphy was always rare. Of all the people on the Ring, he is the only one who never bothered to show up for sparring lessons, and it showed. He despises fighting with a passion, so, when he does, it is always a thing to behold. Murphy is, by no means a good fighter. He is wickedly quick, though, his aim always true even if his blows are not that hard. Emori often refers to him as a _slange i gresset._ It was once a compliment, Echo’s sure.

 

 

By sunset, they make camp huddled against the side of a dune. Exhausted, they eat their rations in silence, shivering in the sudden drop in temperature. “Want first or second watch?”

The spy looks up at the sky. “I’ll take the first.”

Miller nods his head, lies down in his plastic sleeping bag and seems to fall asleep immediately. She leans on her backpack and studies the changing colors of the clear blue sky. This isn’t the first sunset she has seen since she got to the ground, but, considering the circumstances of the other two – hunted by Religious, disoriented from being out in the open after so long, worried for her people – this is the first she can enjoy.

If ten years ago anyone were to tell her she would sit back and bask in the mere privilege of watching the sun go down, she would’ve scoffed. And probably inflict some pain on the offender, on principle.

Now. Now she feels like crying by the sight of the first twinkling star appearing in the pink canopy. Mesmerized she stares as the dunes turn from muddy to gold, as the sky dances with the light, shadows raising and falling like playful birds. And then it’s night: dark and freezing, the sky overhead a starry ocean, the moon casting everything in a pale silver light.

And the coldness… The coldness reminds her of her years hunting on the ice, of the beautiful snowed azgedan forests. It reminds her of her aunt’s hands, coarse, dry and callous, teaching her to pluck berries on their little farm’s fence. Of the feeling of flying bareback over the northeastern planes.

She opens her backpack and pulls out the long package Bellamy has put between her change of clothes and food rations. It is a bow and a bunch of unassembled arrows. She uses the whetstone to sharpen the tips and a pocketknife to cut the shafts, assembling them with a deftness born of years of practice.

Up there, hanging somewhere between the stars, one of the rooms up in the ring is full of arrows she’ll never use. 

 

 

Next day’s trek is both easier and harder. They are blistered and sore where the sun ate merciless holes into their skin, but their bodies seem to have grown used to the scorching heat. Or maybe the temperature doesn’t raise as much. They reach Eden by late afternoon, climbing down into the valley and making their way as silently as possible between the trees. They’re in hostile territory now and need to tread carefully. Miller takes a step back and follows her lead, walking in her footsteps and trying to make as little noise as possible.

Eligious Kru has set up camp around their spaceship in a big clearing. They’ve set a perimeter with electrical fences, and a few guards prowl around like caged wolves. The leader is nowhere in sight when they find a nook to crouch in and watch.

 

 

Miller takes notes in a small notepad, sometimes sketching ugly stick figures on the margins when he’s bored. And watching Eligious Kru is truly a tedious endeavor. They find out very little since most of their activities take place inside their spaceship. 

Every now and then a few expeditions leave the perimeter. Miller and Echo take turns following them. The excursions are as tedious as watching the camp.

Echo has counted twenty members in the Eligious Kru. They're lead by a quiet woman with a nasty scar around her throat and a no-nonsense stance. She seems to have two seconds: a handsome dark man by the name of Zeke and a greasy man his people call Graveyard. Graveyard is mean and violent, his voice carrying even when he isn't shouting. He's the one who leads most expeditions, whereas Zeke is the techy his commander usually turns to when there are problems. 

They've spent three days watching when Graveyard and his team of heavily armed thugs leave the perimeter out of the west gate. Miller, perched on a tall branch looks down at Echo. "Your turn" he whispers bored.

The spy rolls her eyes, but creeps out of their hiding place and shadows the group as they thunder through Eden. 

The forest feels slightly familiar, but it isn't until Eligious Kru finds the village, that Echo doesn't recognize _why_. Until now Primefaya seemed to have whipped the world clean of clans and landmarks leaving only a barren desert behind. And she knew that Eden had survived, but, until now it was just that: Eden, a place named by her people, a patch of trees with no discernible origin.

Now she stands rooted to the ground; her breath caught in her throat because she knows this village. She has been here before. This is a Louwoda Kru village: their colorful Mayfest banners swinging lazily in the breeze. 

Years ago, a lifetime ago, she was here for their May Festival, watched the children run around with wooden masks chasing away evil spirits. Smelled their delicious pastries and cakes cooling on windowsills. Danced around the maypole,  air thick with music and laughter and the annoying shrieking of babies.

Those memories so full of life and happiness make the silence and the smell of berries and rotting fish eerie and surreal. 

Unbothered by the past, Graveyard and his men plow carelessly through the village. One of them knocks a desk with his heavy backpack, throwing a metallic bucket to the ground. A fish slaps wetly to the ground catching Echo’s attention.

Someone is here. Someone other than Eligious.

Her heart perks up with useless, unrealistic hope - _Roan!_ \- before she can squash it back into submission – _Roan is dead._ But so was everyone else outside of that bunker and yet here it is a rotting fish that most certainly hasn’t spent six years in that bucket.

Eligious Kru sweep of the little town, tearing their way through every small hut, scavenging very little and destroying a lot. It feels slightly blasphemous, and Echo itches to confront them when they slam their way into the church, desecrating its peaceful quiet.

If Primefaya caught Louwoda Kru during their festival, it’s possible that everyone was inside the church, partaking in their communal feast. That Eligious thunders into their final resting place, disturbing their spirits is… wrong.

Echo squashes that thought, too. The present is for the living, and she has a job to do. These sentiments are out of place for a spy.

_How soft has she become in her exile?_

Eligious Kru leaves, and she should follow. Her job is to soy on the new clan. She stays back. She steps into the village. It feels like a cemetery. She picks the bucket up. The bottom is damp, the ground dark brown with spilled water. She touches the tip of her boot to the fish. It’s rotting, probably a week old, two at most.

Somebody is here. Or was here.

She scrutinizes her surroundings, noticing the little signs Eligious Kru missed in their blatant disregard for their surroundings – _beasts_. Clean clothes hanging from a line, repurposed plates, dustless stools, lovingly put together flower arrangements, bits, and pieces of tech carelessly strewn over what is apparently a workbench. None of these things have been here six years. Someone – _Roan!_ – has put them here. Someone – _please, Roan, be alive! -_ has been living here, cooking on that fire pit, sleeping in these huts.

She sneaks around the back of one of the huts and into the church. The room is clean and organized in that cluttered way that reminds her of Raven’s workshop. Bits and pieces of tech mingle with whetstones and spear points; half cured pelts and baskets of clothes waiting to be mended. She inspects the walls, carefully repaired, whitewashed and painted in warm browns and bright reds. On the back, next to a crooked rendition of the Great Spirit is an old desk, combed under the weight of an engine Raven would salivate over _._  Between the machine and the wall, papers and pencils flood every nook and cranny, cascading to the ground and rolling around every surface. Pictures are taped to the wall behind the desk.

Echo’s breath catches.

Bellamy stares at her from a sheet of yellowish paper. There are other portraits: a young man she doesn’t know with big goggles awkwardly perched on top of a mop of black hair; she recognizes Abby Griffin and Monty. But her eyes keep going back to Bellamy. She touches the thoughtfully shaded cheek, the smudged curve where the artist struggled to make the complicated curve of his chin perfect.

“Who are you?”

Echo cruses the carelessness that allowed someone to sneak up on her – _what an amateur mistake_.

She turns around.

The world shatters.

Framed by the blinding sunlight streaming through the open door stands Wanheda, a rifle propped against her shoulder, golden hair haloing her frown.

The thing about faith is that it goes all the way. Echo doesn't think of herself as a fanatic, but she believes in the Spirits. She believes that the Commander chose her descendants. She believes there are Kind Spirits that help harvests, and destructive Spirits that bring the fire; they are incorporeal, they have messengers that do their bidding. Sometimes they take a solid form, mostly to play among humans. She believes that angering either is - to borrow an expressión from Murphy-  _an epically bad move_ . 

The spy raises her hands and bends her knees until they touch the floorboards.

The spirit doesn’t move for a long moment. Then she lowers the weapon’s muzzle. “Oh, my god! Echo?”

Wanheda looks around the room for the rest of Spacekru, which gives Echo a moment to try and gather her thoughts. It’s not enough. When Wanheda turns back to her, she’s still reeling. “Where is everybody?”

“They’re at the bunker in Polis.”

The woman comes closer. She doesn’t look like a spirit. She looks alive and powerful. She brings the scent of freshly cut flowers, blood, and dirt. Her hand is solid when she pulls Echo to her feet and embraces her.

The part of the spy’s brain that doesn’t forget anything reminds her of how Wanheda pulled her protective helmet off to offer it to Emori after Echo joined their party. "I have night blood," she had said, and Bellamy had been desperate, but didn’t force Echo out of her protective suit.

“I’ll take you to them.”

The spirit beams, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears.

 

 

 _Nothing is going to change_. 

Echo watches Wanheda on their way back. She’s sitting on the back of the rover with Wanheda’s protégé, Miller, and the blonde spirit together at the front. 

The presence of the spirit bringing an abrupt end to their recon mission and a hasty retreat back to Polis. At least they have wheels now and don't have to endure another trek through the desert. 

The young man is getting her up to speed on the bunker’s political situation. Echo should be paying more attention, but she can barely concentrate with the rushing in her ears.

She slips a hand into her coat and clutches her praying beads.

_Nothing is going to change._

Except Bellamy spent years mourning Wanheda, blaming himself for leaving her behind – still does sometimes. Echo is not delusional enough to believe he would’ve ever looked at her if Wanheda had reached the Ring with the rest of them.

Would the rest have welcomed her? Was she just a buffer to help cope with the loss of their leader? If the Commander of Death is back, what use is she to her people? Are they her people anymore?

Echo pushes the self-pitying thoughts down, pushes everything down.

Six years she spent living a dream in which she had a station. In which she was equal to the people living around her. In which she was _tagon raunon_ instead of just a weapon to be wielded or forgotten. The dream is over. It’s time to pay her dues. 

She looks at the back of Wanheda's head. 

 _Ai laik Echo Nontagon kom Spacekru_ , she repeats in her head. _I serve my master. My master’s wishes are my life._

The words don’t ring as real as they did back when she was Azgeda. Were they always this painful?

The rover stops with a jolt. They’ve reached Polis. 

_Ai laik Echo Nontagon kom Spacekru_ , she repeats in her head.  _I serve my master. My master’s wishes are my life._

Echo jumps out of the back before the rest have time to dismount. She slips between the tents tightly gathered around the ruins and down into the bunker. She’ll slide back into her station. She will.

Spacekru sits in a dark and dusty room, gathered around a small lamp, cards in hand. Even Murphy is playing, sitting just shy of outside of the group. Emori nestled between Raven and Monty, across from her partner. Harper lies on her side, head propped on Monty’s leg. On Raven’s other hand, Bellamy with his hard shoulders and soft curls and Echo wants to weep.

_Ai laik Echo Nontagon kom Spacekru_ , she repeats in her head.  _I serve my master. My master’s wishes are my life._

“Bellamy,” the spy clears her throat.

Raven’s smile is blinding. Will she still be happy to see her tonight? “You’re back early.”

“We brought something back for you.” Her voice is but a whisper, and she chastises herself for her weakness. This won’t do.

_Ai laik Echo Nontagon kom Spacekru_ , she repeats in her head.  _I serve my master. My master’s wishes are my life!_

“Oh!” Harper sits up, hair mused where it tangled against Monty's thigh. “A gift.”

“Just outside.”

The group shift. Emori and Raven throw concerned looks in Bellamy's direction and Echo vows to do better. He nods nearly imperceptibly towards the door, a slight dismissal. Spacekru scampers, hugging her on their way out. It feels like a goodbye and she doesn't want it to hurt, but it does. “You ok?” asks Raven and Echo crushes her best friend against her chest. “You will love it.” If she’s talking about Wanheda or the rover, even she isn’t sure.

Bellamy stays behind. He takes her hand and frowns when he finds her praying beads in her palm.

“What happened out there?”

She kisses him because she is a masochist. Bellamy has a very distinctive taste. His lips are velvety soft against hers, a direct counterpoint of the rough scratch of his beard. She wants to bury herself in his skin.

Instead, she pulls away and tugs him towards the stairs. Up, up, up out of darkness. Bellamy’s skin was made to be sun-kissed. She watches him blink the spots out of his eyes, squinting at the sudden burst of light, and kisses him again, just a brief touch of the lips to keep his attention on her just a little longer. Echo is brutally aware of the crowd surrounding the rover and knows his focus will fall on it as well. But for the briefest of moments, he is still hers.

“I have a gift for you” she whispers against his mouth.

“Echo, what is this about?” His broad, calloused hands cup her face delicately like it’s something precious. His thumbs wipe the tears away. She hadn’t noticed they were there. She’ll do better.

“I love you.” She says, pulling away. “I'll always be your most loyal servant, your truest weapon.”

He sighs.

“Echo…”

Once upon a time, the spy wouldn’t have dared to shush her master. Wouldn’t have dared to put a finger against his lips. But, for these last beautiful heartbeats she is not a tool, she’s a woman, and she needs to do this herself. It is less painful this way. Better to relinquish herself out of her own free will, than have it forcefully taken.

“Say the word, and I’ll leave. I’ll obey your every command happily.”

“What is this about?” Bellamy’s skin is warm when he envelops the hand still against his lips. He doesn’t yank it away,  but instead pulls it down, with the same care one would pluck a butterfly from a tree.

“This is my gift to you. Freely given in hopes of pleasing my lord” She steps to the side, gesturing with her free hand towards the rover and the throng of people. The crowd shifts and Wanheda’s gold-spun mane shines like the sun.

Echo feels the exact second he sees her and knows she has lost him forever.

It's ok, she tells herself. Bellamy was made to be sun-kissed.


	2. Bellamy

Love tends to creep up on Bellamy, appearing out of nowhere and refusing to go away. Maybe it’s because he has been in love only twice and doesn’t know how to recognize the signs. Maybe it’s because this sort of love is selfish and Bellamy tries very hard not to be a selfish man.

The first time it happened was on the ground, years ago, the memory like the ache of an old wound. They were sitting around a campfire, dark stars overhead and the forest vibrant with life. He had been worried - his people in the mountain, Murphy, and Finn alone in the woods hunting grounders, his sister, Lincoln, the recently arrived people of the Ark… -, too wound up to sleep or to keep watch properly. Across from him, on the other side of the fire, shadows danced on his sister’s skin. There had been no tattoos marking her skin, tearing her farther and farther away from him, only a fierce looking braid and dark circles under her eyes. Octavia always could fall asleep, no matter what had happened.

Beside him, hair tangled and face covered in scabs and stitches lay Clarke. He looked at her: curled like a kitten, soft and unguarded and so fucking real. That’s when he knew.

Or, well, he hadn’t known. He felt something shifting inside himself, taking Clarke out of the box that held every other delinquent and putting her in another, unlabeled one. The only thing he knew was that the way he felt for her was different than the way he felt about O. That he hadn’t known this feeling and that he didn’t want it to stop. It wasn’t until much later, when he lost her for the first time that he understood what it was. Jasper’s grief helped him understand, and he felt dirty and a traitor for still having the opportunity.

Being in love with Clarke was always more of an opportunity than a fact. She’d never love him back, so he could only live with the idea of what could’ve happened. Bellamy is very good with what ifs.

When it happens again, he’s on the Ring. Nothing special is happening. There is no emergency. Nobody is about to die. There is no threat lurking in the distance, no monster waiting to be slain.

As a matter of fact, they’re all watching a 150-year-old animated version of Hercules, sitting in the rec room – which consists of three tattered couches arranged in a half-moon facing a patched white screen – passing around a flask of Monty’s latest batch of awful moonshine. It tastes like battery acid and memories of a time before the ground. He’s sitting beside Raven, with Emori on her other side. Murphy’s sprawled on a couch, snoring, Monty and Harper nestled practically on top of each other on the couch across from him. Echo sits cross-legged on the floor, her back ramrod straight and eyes intent on the screen where a cartoon satyr refuses to teach a scrawny-looking big-footed Hercules.

This is Raven’s favorite movie, and therefore plays very often in the rec room, and it’s unusual for everyone to gather and watch it again. The only one who always watches the whole thing is Echo. She cries every time because Hades reminds her of Roan for some reason.

The ex-spy’s hair is still wet from her shower, hanging loosely about her tattooed shoulders, her face illuminated by the screen, eyes wide. She laughs when the satyr gets struck by lightning: just a silent puff of air that shakes her whole body.

That’s the moment Bellamy realizes he is in love with Echo.

Being in love with the spy is different than being in love with Clarke. For one Echo wants him. He has a chance to act on those feelings: can wake up beside her, cuddle and share his fears and hopes for the future. There is nothing urgent about how he feels. There is no imminent death breathing down his neck, threatening to tear her away from him. It’s selfish and ugly, and he is happy.

 

 

Raven blows the last charge.

The whole world shakes as they hide behind a wall of concrete debris in what’s left of Polis. Bellamy’s heart hammers against his ribs, threatening to come free. This is it. If it didn’t work, they wouldn’t be able to unearth the bunker. His sister will remain trapped under the rubble for the rest of her life, and he’ll tear his hand bloody trying to pull her out, but will certainly die before he reaches her.

The dust settles. He’s vaguely aware of Echo’s hand starting to turn blue from how hard he’s clutching it. She doesn’t complain.

The mechanic is the first to stand up from behind their protective barrier and limp to what remains of the tower. He’s a coward and can’t get’s his body to move. Not until he hears the mechanic’s cheers. He doesn’t notice he’s moved until he’s standing beside her, looking down at the hatch in the harsh white light of her flashlight. They’ve done it.

Bellamy wants nothing more than to throw himself against the door, pound it until his sister opens and he’s finally sure she’s ok. But that would be reckless and stupid, so he reels that selfish, impulsive part of himself back and barks: “Let’s secure the structure before it collapses on our heads and kills us all.”

“Bundle of laughs, this one,” mutters Murphy even as he starts to work on the support beams they’ll be setting up. They’re as excited as he is and waste no time securing the structure. Monty and Raven check and double-check everything.

The mechanic, who won the right to make the first contact in a heated round of rock-paper-scissors, unclasps the radio from her belt. “Spacekru to Bunkerkru, do you read?” They’re answered by static and Bellamy isn’t sure his heart can take much more suspense by now. “Spacekru to Bunkerkru, do you read?”

What if they’re all dead? What if he’s too late? What if the bunker wasn’t safe enough? What if radiation got in? What if Octavia wasn’t able to prevent the clans from slaughtering each other? What if Octavia is dead because he failed to protect her because he wasn’t there for her? What if…

“Who is this?” answers a voice through the static.

“Come out and find out, slacker!”

“Oh. My. God. Raven? Raven Reyes?”

“The one and only.” The mechanic smirks. “We cleared the rubble for you. Come out already!”

Bellamy snatches the radio from her hand. “Is Octavia alive? Is she OK?”

He should feel ashamed for the outburst. He spent six years in suspense; ten more minutes wouldn’t have killed him. Except, he spent six years living in worst-case scenarios, and he can’t take a second longer.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Emori mouthing “yes” and pumping her fist in the air, and knows there was another bet going on – he really should get his people to stop betting on his life’s choices.

“Bellamy!” the voice still isn’t Octavia. “Yes, yes, she’s OK. We… We are getting out!”

And the radio goes back to static. Spacekru waits with baited breath, staring at the hatch for the longest of times – why is it taking so long?

And then the metallic door sighs and groans up.

Octavia climbs out of the hole in the ground. He would recognize her anywhere, no matter how long it’s been, or how different she looks. Bellamy launches himself at her and is only marginally aware of Echo catching his sister’s arm before she stabs him with her sword. It doesn’t matter, because both of Octavia’s arms come around him and everything’s right with the world. As he buries his nose in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, he wants to stay here, at this moment, for the rest of his life.

But everything good has to end, and Octavia pulls away – too soon.

She’s dressed in an amalgam of skaikru and grounder clothes, hair braided back, her brow painted red from eyebrows to hairline, eyes deep set and black-rimmed with charcoal and sleep-deprivation. She’s gaunt like she was on the Ark, her body made only of corded muscle and brittle bird-bones, all the weight she gained during the first few months on the ground washed away. Her mouth is harsher, too. The cheekbones, once upon a time rounded with childish fat, sharp as blades now; her eyes merciless even as they grin.

She looks around the group and hugs Raven, Monty, and Harper. Bellamy should stay close to the hatch to help people climb out. He follows Octavia out into the sun instead. She blinks, her skin blindingly pale after so long underground.

“Bellamy!” Miller claps him on the shoulder, and his heart jolts with joy. The young man, once his second in command and one of his most trusted friends, smirks at him. “What you have eyes only for the Blodreina?”

He laughs and hugs him, too, giddy with joy at seeing so many people he had left behind.

As the opening to the bunker starts to fill they move a little farther away, staying around the remains of the tower. He doesn’t stray far from his sister, and his people don’t move away from him. Emori and Murphy inching farther and farther back from the growing multitude. People blinking up at the sun, children shrieking in delight, adults laughing and basking in the warmth, tears and laughter fill the air with an intoxicating melody of pure joy. And then Abby Griffin crashes out of the crowd, Kane at her heels, calling: “Clarke! Clarke!” Bellamy feels a by now familiar spike of pain flare up in his chest. Abby comes closer, her face crumpling into a frown as she scans Spacekru. “Where is she?” and the hope and plea are so evident in her voice he feels like puking.

“Dr. Griffin…” he starts.

Kane puts a hand on the doctor’s shoulder.

“Where is my daughter?” her voice hitches. “Where is she?”

“She didn’t make it.” Bellamy wants to say more, wants to explain, wants to grovel for forgiveness at her feet, wants to…

“No. No. That’s... That’s impossible. Clarke!” she looks around the crowd, inspecting the faces of Spacekru, searching the dunes of rubble surrounding them. And then her eyes fall on him again: round and scared and full of sorrow. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” she shrieks, and the words hurt like blows. “You promised you’d keep her safe!”

He had, hadn’t he? And in less than a day he broke his promise –why do people that he loves always die when he breaks his promises? Her words tear the old wound open, leaving him bleeding at her feet. Kane holds Dr. Griffin up while she wails. Someone touches his elbow, and he wants to crumble, but, instead, he stands there, rooted in place even after Kane has dragged the doctor away, feeling the yawning pit he spent three years clawing his way out of opening once again. Pulling him down, down, down.

Echo threads her long-fingered hand into his hair holding him together in an uncommon public display of affection.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Somehow the words were easier to believe up in space than down here.

 

 

Octavia has changed. Which Bellamy expected. He never managed to imagine her as anything but his little sister: with her gangly limbs and ponytail. On the Ring, whenever he thought of her, that’s what he saw. And logically, he knew that wouldn’t be the girl he’d find down on the ground. But he didn’t expect this either.

She organizes a guard to watch over a perimeter and orders that tents are set up, to start a slow but steady exodus from the bunker. “After such a long time, it’s dangerous to move everyone out at the same time,” she explains to her council. “When Skaikru first came down, we had trouble gauging distances and getting used to the light. There is also the risk of illnesses and infections. We’ll move out over the course of the week. And then we’ll start getting ready to cross the desert towards the Green Place.”

“Being in charge suits you.”

Octavia smiles thinly. “We’ll set up a room for you.” She turns to a woman Bellamy doesn’t know. “Set up a room for six on one of the upper levels.” She smirks at her brother. “That’s one of the nicer ones.”

“Thank you. But there are seven of us.”

Octavia looks around the group. Spacekru remains together, a few feet behind Bellamy, looking excited and exhausted.

“Echo is not going into the bunker.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Raven straightening and Harper protectively taking a step forward.

“Octavia…”

“Don’t Octavia me. She should be grateful. We’ll even spare her some water.”

“What do you mean you’ll spare her some water?” Raven comes closer.

“She was banished. I’ll allow her to leave because I assume she helped you dig the bunker up. But she’s not staying here.”

“She is part of our clan.”

“There are no clans, Bellamy. Only Wonkru and its enemies.”

He squares his shoulders. “That might’ve been the case down there. Up here there is also my kru. And Echo is part of it. Either she stays, or we all leave.” Bellamy takes a step closer. “And without us, your chances of reaching Eden with your whole clan go down. Drastically.”

“Are you challenging me?”

Neither of them has raised their voice; they’re nearly whispering in each other’s faces in an effort not to attract the attention of anyone else.

“I am not. But we are a package deal. Either all seven of us are allowed here. Or we all leave. Choose.”

Octavia stares for a whole minute without blinking. This is familiar territory. Half his life has been like this: fighting his sister’s stubbornness with his own. He can nearly ignore the hot sun on the back of his head, ignore the grounder garb and the intricate hairdo, and pretend they’re back on the Ark, that these past eight years have been nothing but a nightmare.

He sees her fold in slow motion: first in the depths of her green eyes turning cold with barely contained anger. Then in the clench of her jaw – she learned that from him –; the press of her lips – and gods, she looks just like their mother did-; and then in the tiny step back she takes. Octavia is still staring at him when she barks: “Make sure their dog gets a place to sleep, too.” To Bellamy, she all but growls: “She’s your responsibility. Anything she does, your kru pays.”

“Got it.”

Octavia turns to leave but stops at the last minute.

“Oh, and Bellamy? This is the last time you defy me.”

 

 

Once upon a time, the ground was the dream. Hell, two weeks ago it still was. Then Eligius appeared in the distance, and the dream became attainable. The dream shattered with the reality of the horrors that happened in the bunker. With the threat of Eligius looming over their heads, with the threat of Wonkru turning on Spacekru once Echo comes back. There’s only a tiny patch of green left in the world, and the three of them: Wonkru, Eligius, and Spacekru have to find a way to share. From what he’s seen so far of Wonkru, they’re not to keen on sharing.

Bellamy puts a card upside up on the ground in front of him. Raven grunts, taking two cards from the pile in the middle of the circle.

On his other side, Murphy makes a quippy remark. Harper laughs, Emori does not, her mouth pulling taut to hide the up tilt around her lips’ left corner.

At least something good is coming of all of this, he finds himself thinking.

Murphy hasn’t been the easiest guy to be around– especially after the five years were up, and everyone started to get restless about the lack of progress in the getting-down-from-space-front.

Monty snaps at the younger man.

Bellamy swallows down the need to jump in.

He thinks Monty should understand, seeing as the engineer didn’t want to come down either. Then again, where Murphy felt increasingly inadequate and worthless for wanting to stay in space, Monty thrived. Monty made a life for himself, pushing down every bad thing he had done; Murphy, so overwhelmed by it, couldn’t find it in himself to move.

Bellamy rolls his tongue over his teeth.

Raven knocks her shoulder against his, startling him out of his thoughts. He blinks, feeling his neck growing warm at having completely spaced out. He opens his mouth to apologize, dropping his gaze to the cards in his hands.

“Bellamy,” his head snaps up. Echo stands in the doorway, looking nervous. Echo never seems nervous. She stands stock still, her face and neck angry an angry red from where she’s got sunburned, her shoulders pushed back, her throat bared, hands folded at her back.

“You’re back early,” says Raven, carefully pulling her leg down from his lap.

“We brought something back fro you,” Echo’s voice is a barely-there whisper, and he can feel dread creeping into his bones. He has a sudden sense of déjà-vu. This is the same position she adopted on the Ring, those first two years before she started to believe they considered her part of their group. This is the same position of the woman that, two months after reaching the Ring, said to him I am a dog at my master’s feet. Your wishes are my life. Bellamy still feels sick just remembering the earnestness in her voice, all the implications they held.

“Oh!” Harper sits up, an eyebrow quirked. Everyone else finds this strange? “A gift.”

Echo had grown out of that mindset. It took a long time, but she knows she isn’t… She knows they will never consider her just a tool, something to be used.

“Just outside.” Echo has been crying. Even in the dim light of their room, he can see her bloodshot eyes.

What the hell happened out there?

The group shifts. Bellamy and Raven exchange a concerned look. Emori’s fists are nearly white. He nods at them. Echo won’t tell the whole group what’s bothering her. She will try and swallow everything down and brush it aside.

The group hugs her as they leave the room.

“You ok?” asks Raven when she stands by her side in the doorway. Echo’s smile hurts to look at. “You will love it.”

The mechanic is apparently not convinced, but, with one last look at Bellamy, she exits the room. Bellamy comes closer to his girlfriend. She doesn’t pull away when he takes her hand, which is a good sign. Her worn praying beads are threaded around her fingers, which isn’t.

It’s a long string of wooden pearls, each carefully engraved with a rune-like picture. Once upon a time, they might have been painted red, but now the paint is worn and the surface shiny with use. By the knot that closes the necklace hangs a little pendant in the shape of a leaf. Bellamy knows she stole them from her childhood sweetheart, Paddy. They’re private; they’re a comfort she allows herself when alone.

“What happened out there?”

She kisses him. It’s an impulsive movement that only helps to increase his worry. She doesn’t say anything when she pulls back grabbing his hand and towing him upstairs. The sudden burst of sunlight has him blinking black spots from his eyes. There is a loud commotion somewhere to his left, but before he can turn to look, Echo kisses him again, chaste and soft this time and his gut twists painfully. He rests his forehead against hers. “I have a gift for you,” she whispers against his mouth, eyes round and slightly cross-eyed since they’re standing so close together.

“Echo, what is this about?” She’s crying again. Bellamy catches the tears as they trace down her cheeks, careful not to press too hard on her sunburnt skin. Her throat bobs as she swallows.

“I love you.” She says, pulling away, slowly but firmly. “I’ll always be your most loyal, your truest weapon.”

Bellamy wants to pull his hair out.

They’re past this entire servant not worthy to sit beside my master nonsense. They’re equals, they’ve been equals for years. She accepted it. She…

“Echo…”

She presses a long finger against his lips.

“Say the word,” she continues, “and I’ll leave. I’ll obey your every command happily.”

“What is this about?” he has a hard time not letting his anger take the better of him. If he lashes out, she’ll slip all the way back to slave mentality. But this is confusing, and for four years now, she hasn’t acted like this. It’s maddening. It’s terrifying.

She moves to the left, slightly. “This is my gift to you.” Pointing at the crowd with an elegant movement of her free hand. “Freely given in hopes of pleasing my lord.”

He shouldn’t indulge her. He should point out that he’s not her lord or anything. On principle, he should refuse to accept whatever it is she’s brought back from Eden.

But he catches a flash of gold, and his curiosity takes over. Whatever it is, it was enough to convince Echo she has lost her status, and…

And it’s a blonde head: short hair brushing her jaw, strong shoulders clad in leather. People are hugging her. Even from where he stands, he can hear Raven curse in wonder. It’s a petite woman. He would recognize that nose, that chin, that demeanor everywhere.

The woman turns and catches his eye. Her mouth falls open.

Bellamy gasps for breath.

She takes a step towards him. It’s all the encouragement he needs: he crashes through the throng of people. She is warm and firm in his arms, his face fits perfectly in the crook of her neck, his hand around the back of her head. She smells of firewood, berries and damp earth. Her laugh is deep and throaty, and it breaks something inside him.

“Clarke.” Bellamy takes a step back, just enough to look at her, to make sure it’s still here.

Clarke’s smile is blinding. It feels like reaching home after a long, tiring hunt. It feels like everything is going to be right with the world.

He crushes her against his chest once again.

 

 

Clarke tells them all about how she survived, she introduces them to her little natlbida, Madi and recounts their adventures in Eden - Louwoda Kru’s Valley – up to the point when Eligius took it over. Bellamy sits beside her, Dr. Griffin on Clarke’s other side, and listens well into the night. They keep talking even when most of the rest have left for the night. At some point, Raven taps his shoulder, and he leaves Clarke with her mother. Leaving is difficult, even when he’s only wandering down a few halls to his sleeping quarters. A part of him terrified she will be gone come morning. But Raven’s right: Clarke’s mom has more right to stay by her side than he does.

So he pads into the dark room without switching on the lights and collapses on the bed, worn and exhausted and happy. He searches for Echo, but she hasn’t come to bed yet.

 

Bellamy isn’t a stranger to nightmares, and Clarke’s tale of survival, of deserts and men chasing her out of her home, add marvelously to the tapestry of monsters lurking in his subconscious. In his nightmare Clarke is on the floor, bloody and covered in blisters from radiation poison. Her blood soaks the ground, dark flowers blooming wherever it falls; thorny vines winding around her limbs, tying her down. A thick creeper sneaks around her throat, sinking its long pointy thorns into the soft skin, turning her screams into a gurgling choking sound. Her wide blue eyes search the Eligius men looming around her. One of them smiles grotesquely as he pulls a remote from somewhere. He points it down at her and very deliberately presses the button. The vines light up with electricity. Clarke’s body spasms, her eyes rolling back into her head. Somehow she manages to scream, and the sound breaks his heart. PLEASE!

In his dream, Clarke looks at him imploringly, and he tries to come closer, to cut the vines, to kill Eligius, to…

But he can’t he’s trapped on the wrong side of the bay window in the Ring, pounding his fists bloody against the glass. He screams, but there is no sound in space. The Eligius man hits her again with a burst of electricity and Bellamy slams himself against the glass, over and over, until it’s covered in blood, but, no matter what he does he can’t get to her. He’s trapped, and they’re killing her. They’ll kill her, and he can only watch as he loses her for a third time.

 

 

Bellamy wakes with a start, feeling sick and drenched in sweat. He’s panting, and the blankets tangled around his legs. In the darkness of his room, he can still see Clarke writhing in pain. Can still hear her screaming PLEASE!

He rolls out of bed and pads into the bathroom. The white-blue fluorescent glares at him. He splashes water on his face and takes a few shuddering breaths. When he goes back to his room, he notices Echo’s side of the bed is still made; the blankets pulled taut and wrinkle-less, still cold.

He frowns.

It’s not unlike her to miss sleep, her being an insomniac and all. But she usually pretends she’s laid down to try and catch a few hours of sleep. All at once he remembers how unsettled she was and feels like a heel for forgetting, for not taking the time to look for her, for being so caught up in his own joy.

Bellamy rubs his face and pulls his boots and shirt on. Once he’s out of his room, though, he doesn’t know where to start looking for her. He knows she hasn’t gone to the others, knows that, whatever she’s dealing with, whatever she thinks, she’ll try and solve it on her own.

He knows…

“Fuck.”

He races up the stairs and out of the hatch. The camp, nestled between the Polis ruins is eerie quiet. The rover sits in a clearing, curled up on itself like a sleeping dog. Bellamy jumps into the driver’s seat and turns the ignition key. It growls and blinks warily, buckling slightly at the unfamiliar driver. Bellamy soothes it with a steady hand, guiding it between the tents and the boulders and out of Wonkru’s encampment. The rover grumbles, pulling against the steering wheel when they reach the open land of the desert. Obligingly, Bellamy changes the gear and lets it jump gleefully forward.

Echo must have a few hours head start, but she must stop at some point, and with the rover, he can cover five times the ground she does in half the time.

Bellamy sees her an hour after leaving Polis when the sun starts to peek shyly over the dunes. She carries a small backpack, a bow and a quiver full of arrows. Her sword strapped to her side. The headlights cast Echo’s face into hard unreadable angles. She has an exceptional poker face. He lets the engine running when he jumps off the vehicle. For a few minutes, they stand in silence, watching each other.

“Where are you going?”

“To deal with Eligius.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “This is not how we do things.”

“There’s no point in risking everyone’s life. I’ll get it done.”

It’s so tempting to use her insecurities and order her to go back with him. Bellamy knows she’ll bow and comply. But he swore himself he would never do it again. Hell, he even promised her, he’d never do it again.

“This is not happening,” he says instead.

Echo doesn’t reply. She’s painted her cheeks and the side of her brow with chalk, framing her eyes with uneven white lines, and Bellamy feels sick for the second time this night. It’s the same markings she painted on her face the day of Praimfaya.

“Echo…” he takes a few steps closer. She stays still. “Talk to me.” Nothing. “Whatever it is. We’ll face it.”

“I will not grovel.” The ferocity in her voice takes him aback. “Ai laik…” her lips press into a white line. “I will not grovel.”

“I will.” Bellamy shrugs. “Talk to me, please.” He puts a hand on her arm, gingerly, slightly afraid he’s going to lose it to one of the knives she’s undoubtedly hiding on her person.

Echo doesn’t move. “I did the math.” She says. “I know…” she clears the throat. “Things will change. And… I’ll take myself out of the equation before hurting my kru.”

“So you’ll singlehandedly take on Eligius?”

“I can do it.”

“And when you fail and don’t come back we’ll mourn you. Except before that, we will hold on hope. And instead of thinking you’ve died somewhere, fighting, we’ll believe Eligius has caught you.” In his mind’s eye, he can still see that man electrocuting Clarke over and over. He swallows down bile. “We’ll be left behind wondering what they’re doing to you. Imagining the horrors a bunch of psychopaths and murderers can come up with to make you talk.”

“I would never betray you!” Echo exclaims, failing to understand the point so utterly he feels like he’s been slapped. His grip on her biceps tightens. She doesn’t move.

“That’s what you think I’m worried about?” Bellamy manages to spit through gritted teeth.

For a whole minute Echo stares unblinkingly at him, then, very slowly she says: “I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“The problem is that you’re throwing your life away! You’re willingly walking into danger, with no backup, telling nobody and expecting us just to accept it.”

“But you don’t need me anymore. I usurped Wanheda’s place in Spacekru. She’s back now. You don’t need me.”

Her words hurt more than he expected. “Is that really what you think of us?”

“You still wake up screaming her name, Bellamy.”

“Yes. I do. Because she’s my best friend and I spent six years believing I had killed her.”

“No. It’s because you love her. And so does the rest.”

“And we’re only capable of loving one person at a time, right?” he spits. Anger makes his blood boil. He wants to tear her apart, take something that is dear to her and rip it away.

Echo pushes her chin out. “I am not stupid, Bellamy. I know…”

“Yes, you know how we feel and what we’ll do, because you’re a perfect spy, aren’t you? Trained to seduce and destroy and kill and find out people’s darkest secrets.” Anger curls around his biceps, seeps into his belly, pumping his heart in his ears. “And yet, you are the worst at it, because you have absolutely no understanding of how people work.” He bares his teeth. “You wanted to become part of my kru, but you have no clue of what that is, so you’ve played pretend and now you’re tired of it, aren’t you? Because we aren’t like your masters, we are good people who care about each other, and you have no clue what that is like!”

Echo blinks once.

“My master is wise,” her voice is brutally even.

“Get in the car. That’s an order.”

Her lips form the word ‘no.’ Her throat works around it, tongue trying it out. What comes out instead is “As my master commands.”

Something in his insides breaks.

 

 

Bellamy watches a group of children playing tag. They’re young, scrawny and distinctly underfed. The youngest is around eight; his head shaved to hide the fact that her hair grows patchy, which only helps to highlight the papery quality of her skin. The others aren’t that much better off small for their ages, with long wiry limbs and gaunt faces. They look like the Arker children. Grounders were taller than skaikru, but starvation, it seems, has made them all equals.

Octavia and her council are deciding the next course of action. He wasn’t invited to the meeting, which is just as well, because his brain feels scrambled.

“Knock-knock.” Clarke stands on the broken boulders with a small, tentative smile on her lips. “Mind if I join you?”

Bellamy finds himself smiling despite the turmoil he’s currently feeling. He gestures for her to come closer. When she plops down beside him, he notices she’s carrying a canteen and two metal cups from the mess hall. “I think,” she unscrews the bottle with much more attention than it warrants, “it’s high time I took you on that offer.” He frowns. And then he remembers and feels a chuckle clawing its way up his throat. “We deserve it.”

“You more than I,” he tells her. “I was living a fairly uncomplicated, leisurely life up in the Ring.” He accepts the cup. Her hand’s as freezing as he remembers. The scars on the back of it aren’t. “You had to fight every day.”

“Yes.” They click the cups together and drink. “I hoped you wouldn’t feel guilty for leaving me behind.” She smiles to herself. “Wishful thinking. Knowing you.” Bellamy doesn’t have anything to say, so Clarke continues. “It had to be done.”

He rolls his tongue over his teeth. “That line doesn’t work on me.” Clarke frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember what you said to me? About forgiveness?”

“Yes.”

“When… When I tried giving it to you, the forgiveness you were seeking, it didn’t work.”

“Oh.”

Silences between them have never felt awkward. There’s no need to fill it with small talk, with senseless noise. Maybe that’s why they worked so well together. They allowed each other to think.

“Is there…” he clears his throat. “I keep wondering. Is there anything I could’ve said that would’ve made you stay?”

Clarke mulls it over. “I don’t think so.” She chuckles. “We were pretty messed up back then.”

“I think I am messed up now, too.”

Clarke sighs. “I know it doesn’t make a difference. But I don’t regret being down here. Even if I was on my own, even if I missed everyone and stuff was difficult. Once I found Madi… If the first two months meant I got to find her again, I am glad I was here.”

Bellamy chuckles. “Jasper was right,” the name still feels heavy on his tongue, “you are totally a mom.”

Clarke laughs, bright and raspy and perfect. His heart warms. The love he had for her is still there, nestled securely between his heart and lungs. “Look who’s talking, Mr.I Accidentally Adopted Another Kid.”

“What can I say? I am a natural.”

They drink. “So. Tell me about Spacekru. I want to know everything.”

And he does. He tells her about the Ring, how they had to repair nearly everything in it, how Monty got the farm up and running, and a small distillery on the side. How he kept working to forget about everything he had done on the ground. How he had always half a dozen projects running. He tells her how Monty reached her lowest point somewhere around month six and spent a whole month just lying in his cot: exhausted and unmoving. “Things started to turn around after that.”

He tells her about Harper, who would pick a fight with everyone and then crawl along the ventilation shafts until she exhausted herself. For the first year, they kept finding her in random sections of the wall. “At some point, she started getting over it. And then she started learning about the farm and spacewalks and fighting. Her anger and hate melting away.”

About Raven, who never stopped. Much like Monty, she found projects to keep her hands working: running simulations, welding the ship together and even building wind-up toys. “She was the happiest when in Zero-G. I think that’s how she coped with everything. Whenever she felt the shadows looming, she would jump outside.” Bellamy doesn’t tell Clarke about the time Raven looked at the tether keeping from floating away from the ship and getting lost in the distance and wondered about cutting it. Bellamy only found out three weeks after the episode happened and made sure to set the rule of no solo spacewalks.

Emori was the one who flourished in the ship. Her love for tech and previous knowledge of the stuff – even if rudimentary – meaning that she shadowed the mechanic wherever she went. She learned exceedingly quickly, too, quickly surpassing everyone’s expectations and starting to work on some projects on her own. She was the one to patch the com systems and set up the radio. Not that the radio was powerful enough to reach the ground, with the residual radiation blocking the signal. But the thing worked, and Emori was insanely proud of it.

But speaking about Emori inevitably means talking about Murphy. Murphy, whose anger was cold and calculating; who was capable of striking with lightning speed both physically and verbally; who, after Emori left their quarters left the group entirely; who, in the beginning, was paralyzed with fear whenever he saw Echo and remembered she was Azgeda; who felt calm only when looking at fire.

Bellamy’s voice trails off. His gaze wanders around the Wonkru camp. Clarke’s hand lands on his knee. Her nails are dirty and short; there’s a long silvery scar across the back of it. He wonders what happened there.

“Echo and I are together.” He fingers spasm on his knee. She works her jaw. “At least I think we are. I don’t know.” He presses his lips together. “We…” Clarke pulls her hand away, and he wants to have it back. “I think I screwed up.”

“What happened?”

He worries the inside of his lip.

“Bell?”

He tells her. He’s probably less coherent than he should, but it’s painful and difficult. He doesn’t like to think about the first few years on the Ring. Yes, they were safe, they were fed – if Monty’s algae could be called food after having tasted the wonders the earth had to offer – but they all carried darkness inside of them. The monsters weren’t in the forests or looming down the corridors; they crawled along the shadows they themselves cast. Bellamy remembers the days he was choking on guilt, the moments he couldn’t be bothered to move, the times he had to fight for breath while his body broke down around him when he found himself curled under some random piece of furniture, shaking from head to toe and wailing like a scared kid. The flashbacks were the worst.

Echo had those, too. Sometimes she would stop, her eyes unfocused and her body stiff, sweat beading on her brow. She always tried to brush it off, but nobody was fooled. Not that anybody was in any way equipped to help her.

“We managed to pull ourselves together. Somehow.”

They all found ways to cope, to get better. And, at some point, the world started to make sense again. Grief and pain still there, but every day more bearable. “I couldn’t bear the sight of her. Every time I saw her I remembered her pointing that arrow down at O. I remembered her throwing O’s broken sword at my feet. But she was useful and…” He sighs. “When you’re trapped with only six other people in a metal tube, you’re bound to find out stuff about them.”

“What did you find?”

“She likes ghost stories.” He drops his eyes to the forgotten cup in his hand. “She likes doing the other girls’ hair, and she sings at the top of her lungs. She loves to sing.” He swallows down bile. It’s been three days since Echo tried to leave and it’s like she’s a different person altogether. “Murphy considers her his best friend. And she trusts Raven the most. And she was getting better. It has been… a year and a half, maybe two, since she last referred to herself as something worthless.” He looks at Clarke, trying to make her understand. “We were past that.”

“I am sure everything will work out.”

“Will it? I don’t know.” He chuckles darkly. When she hugs him, he drops his head on her shoulder and lets himself be held for an indulgent moment. “I feel like I am surrounded by strangers.” He whispers. “Octavia, Echo, Murphy…”

“I’m still the same.”

 

 

“We should leave.”

Bellamy raises his head to look at Murphy, standing proudly at the door, his shoulders thrown back and head tilted high in defiance.

Everyone but Monty and Harper is in the room: Raven and Emori showing a delighted Madi their latest wind-up toy; Echo silently looming in a corner; Clarke drawing on her sketchpad and him trying to read.

Emori rolls her eyes, but Bellamy has learned to trust Murphy’s survival instincts. They wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for his instincts.

“In a day or so, Octavia will move Wonkru to Eden.”

“Exactly. And by then we’re either part of her clan, or we’re the enemy.” His eyes dart around the room. “And we all know how that ends.”

“You’re only worried because you can’t fight,” taunts Emori under her breath. For once Murphy bites his tongue.

“There is safety in numbers,” Clarke says, eyes narrowed in the young man’s direction. “Maybe we could join Wonkru?”

Madi worries her lip, clearly unsure about this. “They have a flaimkepa.”

“The time of the flame is over,” Clarke says forcefully. “But it’s up to you,” she adds, kinder.

The little girl doesn’t answer, her eyes on the toy in her hands.

“Is someone here delusional enough to believe they’re going to welcome us with open arms?” snaps Murphy. He takes a step into the room, holding himself gingerly, breathing carefully, deliberately not touching his side.

“Well, most of us, at least.”

Murphy glares at his ex-girlfriend. “Did you somehow forget what you are to them?”

Raven growls. “That’s enough.”

“No, it isn’t. Not even close. Because this Wonkru? They’re only fighters. They’re…”

“So what?” In the blink of an eye, Emori is up in his face, eyes sparkling with anger. “Just because you can’t fight, just because you’re a coward and some useless…”

Bellamy can see Murphy reining his anger back with difficulty. He picks her gloved hand forcefully, his thumb mindlessly caressing her knuckles as he raises it. “It’s not safe for you here.”

Emori pulls her hand away. “I can take care of myself.”

The young man presses his lips together. “Fine. What about Echo?” His too-large eyes flit around the room like restless birds. “You think Octavia will forgive and forget?”

No, thinks Bellamy. “Yes.”

Echo snorts, which is the first sound she has made without being prompted since she tried to flee.

Bellamy’s heart does a summersault in his chest. He chances a look at her, but she’s doing her brick-wall impersonation, no trace of humor about her. He hates it.

“So we have to believe you suddenly give a shit about us?” The mechanic narrows her eyes, taking a step forward, prowling into his personal space. She shoves him back, hard. His breath hitches, face going pale. “You’re so full of shit. You’re only scared to lose your own worthless little life, you…”

“That’s enough!” snaps Echo stepping between them: fierce and strong and free. Bellamy wants to cry.

The mechanic grins, throwing her arms around the startled spy. “Welcome back. We’ve missed you.”

“Are you ok?” asks Emori, frowning at Murphy, who’s still panting, propped against the doorframe.

“I didn’t push that hard.”

Clarke comes closer, pressing her hand expertly against the young man’s side. He flinches but doesn’t back away. She pulls his shirt up to reveal a big two day-old bruise. When she touches the ribs, gingerly tracing each one with the pads of her fingers, Murphy hisses.

Emori looks murderous. “What the hell happened?”

“Jealous you’re not the only one who gets to beat me up?” his cocky smile freezes in place when Clarke finds the broken rib.

Emori doesn’t smile.

“Only one is broken,” announces the blonde. “But it seems like everything is still in place. It’ll hurt like a bitch for a few weeks, but it should be ok.”

Clarke steps back. “You’re so fragile, Murphy,” the mechanic teases, knocking her shoulder with his.

“There was no need for you to shove that hard.”

Echo frowns, still in an increasingly awkward half hug with Raven. “This interaction was planned?”

“Of course.” Raven smiles, “We knew you were somewhere inside there” she taps the spy’s brow. “And I was fed up with you pulling away. You are a part of Spacekru. No matter what happened six years ago, no matter what nonsense goes into your head about not being worthy, or not being a full human or… whatever! We’ve got you. Every time. You’re ours.”

Echo swallows. She looks around the room. Her eyes falling on Clarke and then away, so quickly Bellamy thinks he might have imagined it.

“I mean, we keep accepting Murphy back,” Emori teases, her worried eyes never leaving her ex’s face, “How can you think we would push you away?”

Echo’s mouth forms the word Wanheda, but it never leaves her lips. “Thank you,” she says instead. Bellamy knows this isn’t the end. Her conditioning is part of her, and no words will ever convince the spy she’s wrong. But, maybe they can bring her back from the edge, teach her to trust them, trust how much they love her. And, maybe, with time, she’ll believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not completely satisfied with the feel of this and I hope I didn't make Bellamy too OOC.   
> Tell me what you think
> 
> You can always come find me on tumblr (ghelikblack)  
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (would you look at that, dear Anon, Raven/Zeke made it into one of my fics XD)

The war ends with an arrow sticking out of McCreary’s eye, and Echo crumbling to the ground with a gasp.

Clarke rushes over to her. When she reaches the spy, Bellamy’s already tearing her clothes open, uncovering the bullet hole in her chest, blood so dark it nearly looks black seeping out of the wound. Echo’s eyes are round and terrified, Bellamy looks pale, his hands slick with her blood. His voice is a choked whisper: “You hang in there, you hear me? We are going to patch you up.”

Clarke kneels down on her other side to inspect the damage. “Can you raise her? I need to see if there is an exit wound.”

Bellamy does a hand cradling the back of her head and the other her waist. The exit wound gushes blood, but, at least, that means the bullet isn’t lodged somewhere in her lung. Clarke’s world narrows down to those two holes, to the blood and the color of the skin and the sound of the patient’s breathing. Every other noise - Bellamy’s pleas, Echo’s voice, and people rushing around them - falls away. Everything else is unimportant.

She starts to work. From her trusty bag, she takes a jar of antiseptic paste to cover the wounds. It’ll have to do until they get out of here and back to her med bay, where she has proper tools and medicine.  

“We need to take her to the village.” She says, there isn’t that much she can do with only her field med-kit. Bellamy slips a hand under the spy’s knees and follows Clarke to the rover without a second’s hesitation. The care with which he lays her on the back has Clarke’s heart twisting painfully with an envy she’s starting to get used to.

The ride doesn’t take long, but all the time she’s acutely aware of Echo’s stuttering breathing and of Bellamy’s soothing voice.

“Bellamy…” whispers Echo, barely audible over the angry growl of the engine. “I want the traveler’s prayer.”

“You are not dying here.”

She chuckles and coughs. “Is she coughing up blood?” Clarke asks, veering sharply to the left.

“No.”

“Good.”

“See? You are not dying.”

There is a long pause punctuated by her panting and then: “Is that an order, ai haihefa?”

“Y-yes. You can’t die. You hear me? You can’t-”

She chuckles again and has a coughing fit. Clarke floors the gas pedal. “I-I think- You’ll have to bargain with Wanheda about that.”

The blonde doesn’t so much stop as park: violently, and too quickly. If she ever saw Madi do this, the girl would be grounded for a month. She scrambles out of the car and into the med-bay, fetching everything she’ll need as she goes.

Echo has lost consciousness when Bellamy lays her on the table.

 

 

Bellamy doesn’t leave Echo’s side. He sits stubbornly by her bedside and stares at the woman even after Clarke and her mother tell him there is nothing he can do but wait and see if the spy pulls through. Raven, Monty, and Harper drop by every so often to bring him food and keep him company. Emori paints three rune-looking symbols on Echo’s brow and sits at the foot of the bed mumbling in trigedasleng. Murphy lights candles on the bedside table sits on the floor with his back to the side of the bed and does card tricks in Bellamy’s general direction. Octavia doesn’t come once. Clarke isn’t sure how to act around this family, so she stays awkwardly in the shadows and checks the wounds every few hours.

The blonde hates how out of place she feels around these people that were, once upon a time, her friends. Of course, she knew they would be different. But she never realized just how close-knitted they would be, how obvious it is she doesn’t belong with them. And she’s happy that Bellamy got to fall in love with somebody, but she never really thought he would. She hates it, hates that Echo obviously loves him, too. Hates that she’s so alone and so jealous.

When she comes to check on the patient, Bellamy’s there. He dragged his chair closer to Echo’s cot and is braiding her hair, slowly methodically, clipping small rings into her it as he goes. He doesn’t seem to notice Clarke hovering in the doorway and the blonde fees a spike of irrational anger.

How long did it take him to fall for the spy?

She hates that this whole situation has her comparing him to Finn, which isn’t fair because Bellamy spent six years in space thinking she was dead, whereas it took Finn less than a fortnight to forget about Raven. And Bellamy was never hers, to begin with. She needs to remind herself of that.

Swallowing the bile down, she turns on her heel and flees the small med-bay. She escapes the crowded town Wonkru and Eligius are starting to share, she flees her poisonous thoughts and slips into the cool, inviting darkness of the woods.

Illuminated only by the blue-red light of luminescent butterflies and the shy silvery beams of the full moon, peaking between the branches of the tall trees, Clarke leaves the noises of the town behind. She can still hear them like she could still hear the Dropship or Arkadia even miles into the forest, but it’s no longer a dazzling cacophony, more like a reminder that she’s no longer alone.

She finds a clearing far enough that she can pretend the noise belong to some random critter hidden in the underbrush and plops down, her back against a tree. She fiddles with a cut on her jacket. She’ll have to find thread and mend it. She should check Madi’s clothes, the girl always forgets to tell her about tears in her clothes until they’re in tatters.

Clarke misses her radio.

In times like these, she would call Bellamy and unload the mess of feelings running circles in her mind. But she doesn’t even have that anymore, and she feels so fucking alone.

A bush to her left rustles, catching her attention. A moment later Octavia appears between the trees: tall and proud and composed. She doesn’t remember a time when they were friends: friendly towards each other, yes; allies, maybe; civil, during the last few weeks. But never friends, and, since she became Blodreina, the probability of them ever getting closer seems rather slim. Especially considering Octavia appears to hate her brother more than anyone in the whole world.

“What are you doing here?” the Red Queen demands, her pointy nose haughtily piercing the air.

There was a Red Queen in one of Clarke’s children’s books: a villain, cold and cruel. She remembers her father reading it to her, but she doesn’t remember which one it was.

“Counting flies,” Clarke answers caustic.

Octavia doesn’t look impressed. She strides forward like the valley belongs to her and sits herself on a log. What Clarke wouldn’t give to see that log break right this instant. It occurs to her that this is the first time she’s seen Octavia alone. “Where did you park your entourage?”

“I am perfectly capable of protecting myself.”

Clarke hums and turns her head back up to the sky.

“Why haven’t you killed her?” asks Octavia breaking the tense, uncomfortable silence.

Clarke frowns. “Who?”

“Echo.”

The blonde stares at Octavia. Opens her mouth to answer. Closes it and stares some more. “Excuse me?”

“You had the perfect opportunity Nobody would’ve known, and she would’ve been out of the way.”

“Out of whose way exactly?”

“You aren’t fooling anyone, Wanheda,” scoffs Octavia.

Clarke feels her hackles rising and forces herself to stay calm. It bother’s her that Octavia refuses to refer to her as anything but Commander of Death. But being stuck with a sassy kid and then a rebellious teenager for six years has proven to be a great exercise in self-control. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You like my brother.”

There is no point in denying it, not to Octavia who will never tell Bellamy. “So?”

“So, you could’ve let Echo die. And keep my brother.”

“What?”

“Come on. Don’t tell me you hadn’t thought about it.”

Clarke stares at this woman for a whole minute, her mind reeling. “You are aware that you’re talking about somebody Bellamy loves, right?”

Octavia shrugs. “As I said. Nobody would’ve known.”

“I would have!”

“So?”

“I am a doctor! I can’t…”

“Please.”

“If you don’t understand why I didn’t kill my patient, a member of Bellamy’s Kru and my allay, then I am sorry for you” Clarke stands up, brushing dirt from her butt. “But I am not explaining it.”

“No need to lose your shit, Wanheda.”

“My name is Clarke,” growls the blonde. Octavia’s stare is unimpressed, haughty and Clarke wants to punch her to see if she can manage another expression.

“Titles are important, Wanheda.”

“I don’t care about your stupid cult, Octavia. And if you even think of coming close to the med bay…”

“If I wanted Echo dead, she would be no more.” She shrugs, and even that movement looks stiff and calculated. “I was just curious.”

Clarke blinks.

Curious.

It suddenly dawns on her. This isn’t Octavia being menacing or authoritarian. This is Octavia trying to make small talk, trying to have a rational conversation with somebody outside of her crazy gladiator cult.

She feels a pang of pity for this woman – not that much younger than herself – who has spent so much time being the embodiment of a god, she’s forgotten how to be a person. Is she this awkward around people? Has she also forgotten how to interact with other human beings?

“Have you forgiven her, then?” Clarke asks, scrambling to find something to say, to keep the Blodreina engaged in human interaction.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive her.” Which is understandable, seeing as Echo nearly succeeded in killing her twice, not that Clarke hasn’t forgiven people for much worse.

“But you’re ok with letting her stay?”

Octavia’s smile is brutal and unsettling. “No. But she’s a quick, disposable link to get to my brother, should he be… difficult.”

Just like that, every ounce of pity Clarke might have felt for Octavia a minute ago vanishes. “Don’t look at me like that, Wanheda. You, better than anyone, should know love is weakness.”

The threat in her words is evident, and Clarke’s heart stutters. Her mind supplies her with a vivid image of Madi’s body torn on the ground, black blood seeping into the earth. She has to take two deep breaths before she’s sure she won’t puke on the floor.

“Let me make this perfectly clear.” Clarke’s voice is far calmer than she feels. “If you touch a hair on Madi’s head, it won’t matter how many people think you’re some kind of goddess, how many people try to protect you. I will destroy you.”

“I wouldn’t antagonize Wanheda.” Says the Blodreina and Clarke can’t stand it anymore. She storms off.

 

 

The med-bay is silent and dark: a small fire the only light source. Bellamy’s curled up on top of a counter next to Echo’s bed. His shoulders rising and falling evenly as he sleeps. Clarke drapes a blanket over him before turning to her patient. The spy’s eyes are open and fixed on her.

A few years ago, Clarke saw a panther lying by the stream. When the animal noticed her, it looked at her with the same calculating and curious expression on Echo’s face.

The blonde clears her throat. “How are you feeling?”

The woman doesn’t immediately answer. Her eyes fall on Bellamy, her expression softening with the wonder of someone who cannot believe what she’s seeing. “In the Winter Palace, there was a big kennel. Haiplana had dozens of dogs: angry, violent beasts, trained to hunt and kill. At a snap of Haiplana’s fingers, they would tear grown men limb for limb.” Clarke shifts on her feet, she has to remind herself that the spy is high on painkillers - courtesy of Eligious, and probably doesn't know what she's saying. “And still, they would trot behind her untethered. Once, during a hunt, one of the dogs got lost. It didn’t come back for the whole winter. We assumed it had fallen and died somewhere. Then, spring came, and Haiplana’s hunting party encountered a wolf pack and among them, her dog. She called it to her side, said its name once, and the beast turned on the wolf pack and came back to her.” Echo licks her lips. “I keep wondering. If I had found Roan instead of you, would I have gone back to him?”

Clarke comes closer, puts a hand on her brow. The woman is burning up. She mulls her words over carefully before saying: “You aren’t a dog.”

“That’s what he says.” Her mouth twists in what tries to be a smile but falls short. “But I wonder.”

The blonde doesn’t know how to answer that. She doesn’t have any sort of relationship with this woman, how is she supposed to deal with this? Why does Echo think she’s the right person to come to with her existential crisis? Is she even aware who she's talking to?

“Would you have gone back to Nia?” she asks, checking the exit wound and applying some of the paste she uses as disinfectant and painkiller.

Echo snorts, her eyes dropping closed. “I wouldn’t have had a choice if it were Nia.”

“But Roan would’ve let you make a choice?”

“Roan was kind.” Her mumbled voice is so soft and full of sorrow, something in Clarke’s chest twitches. She squeezes her shoulder, which catches the spy’s attention.

“Were you in love with him?”

“I love Roan like Bellamy loves Octavia.” She sighs and turns her head minutely to look at Clarke, a small smile peaking around her lips. “He had a good death, right? He got to be with his ancestors.”

Clarke opens her mouth. The words 'I don’t know' ready on her tongue. Her eyes fall on the long braids decorated with the small metallic accents, on Echo's wide, pleading eyes. “Yes,” is what comes out of her mouth.

Echo closes her eyes and sighs.

“Mochof, Wanheda.”

 

 

Clarke doesn’t want to intrude. She really doesn’t. But the village is not that big, and, with over a thousand people living in a place when for the longest of times there were only two, Clarke finds herself stumbling into people all the time. And she seems to have an innate ability to just land wherever Bellamy is.

“Shouldn’t I get to make that decision, too?” Bellamy’s voice has a cadence Clarke could recognize everywhere, it commands her attention, no matter where she is. “Echo…”

“Don’t lie to me, Bellamy.”

“I am not lying to you.” Pause. “Yes, I love her.” He says it like the words are being wrenched out with a screwdriver. “But I love you, too. And…” he sighs, and Clarke can nearly see him dragging his hands over his face. “This is such a mess.”

“I am not great at sharing. And I’d rather not invoke the Spirits Wrath by – Don’t look at me like that.”

“You know Clarke is not actually a spirit, right? She’s not a goddess or anything like that. She’s just a human. Like you and me.”

Echo doesn’t answer for a long moment. “If we continue down this path, you’ll only regret it. And then something that is sweet and beautiful will turn bitter. You’ll grow to despise me. And then it might be too late.”

“I am old enough to make my own choices.”

“Am I” Echo asks haltingly, “a free woman?”

“What? Yes! Of course.”

“Then… I don’t want you anymore.”

Bellamy doesn’t answer right away. He sighs. “As long as this is what you want. And it doesn’t come out of some weird superstitious sense or self-sacrificial urge. I accept that. And, if that is really what you want, I won’t push. But I do love you, and I want to stay with you.”

“It is what I want.”

Another lengthy pause. Clarke’s heart hammers against her ribs.

“Ok.”

That’s it? Thinks Clarke frowning at the door. Ok?

The blonde hears footsteps coming towards the door, and she hurries out of the way. The door opens and Echo steps out of the room. She moves gingerly, frequently stopping to catch her breath. In Clarke’s expert opinion, the warrior should be up and about so soon after her close brush with death, but the woman refuses to stay in bed.

The spy turns left towards the house Raven, Murphy and Emori share.

Clarke hesitates. She knows she should leave it alone. She knows Bellamy will tell her whatever happened when he’s ready.

Clarke bites her bottom lip.

This living with other people thing is harder than she remembers. When it was just her and Madi, she somehow knew when she could push and when she needed to step back and give the girl some space. There weren’t so many variables, so many people’s feelings to take into account.

Alright. She’ll look into the church to see if he’s ok, and decide after.

She peaks around the door and sees him sitting hunched on a rickety chair, a hand pressed over his mouth and nose, shoulders shaking.

Clarke wants to go to him and hug him until the pain goes away.

This is your fault, whispers a tiny voice in the back of her head. They were fine before you came along. She flees instead.

 

 

A month after the end of the war, Spacekru lives in two small huts on the outskirts of town. A town overpopulated with two factions that hate each other and a third one that keeps mostly to themselves. They’re a close-knitted group that seems to go everywhere in pairs or threes. Between their two huts, they’ve cleared a small ring they use for sparring lessons.

“Murphy, I swear, if you don’t raise your guard I am going to beat you with a stick!” Echo stands in the shade of one of the huts, muscled arms crossed over her still-bandaged chest and a frown around her full lips. On the ring Murphy and Raven circle each other. They’re clad in shorts and t-shirts, trying to fend off the mid-Augusts heat. Lieutenant Miles Shaw frowns at the scene, calculating eyes committing everything to memory.

Raven swipes left catching Murphy on the shoulder, but the man twists in time and throws the mechanic over his shoulder. She lands on her back with a huff but doesn’t lose any time before hooking her good leg in his knee and using his momentary instability to topple him.

Shaw blinks and looks pointedly away when, a second later, Raven’s straddling Murphy, practically sitting on his throat, legs trapping his arms at his sides. Murphy squirms trying to dislodge her. The mechanic smiles, wide and proud, her eyes going to Echo and stumbling on Shaw. Her opponent uses the distraction to his advantage as he’s suddenly surging to the side, biting Raven’s thigh. Hard.

The mechanic screams; tries jumping back, but Murphy doesn’t let go, and the clunky brace seems to get stuck on something. Which end up with Raven on her back and a very determined Murphy still attached to the side of her tanned thigh.

He lets go, to grab Raven’s arms, twisting her around until she’s somehow facedown on the dirt, with both her arms trapped behind her and Murphy’s knee on her lover back. “I yield!”

Murphy lets her go, jumping back to avoid a well-aimed kick. “You did well,” says Echo, pushing away from the wall.

“Like hell. He cheated.”

“I did not.”

“Biting is cheating.

“It’s not,” says Echo. “It’s not honorable or elegant, but if you find yourself in a situation in which nothing else works, you always have teeth.” The warrior’s eyes cut to Shaw. “Would you like to try your hand against Wanheda?”

The words attract the other’s attention to her and Clarke feels her face growing warm at being caught staring. Shaw smiles. “I am not much of a fighter,” says, apologetic.

“That’s why I am not pitching you against Murphy on your first try.”

“Aw, Echo. You think I am a good fighter?” Raven rolls her eyes at Murphy’s words.

“No. But you fight dirty, and we wouldn’t want to chase Raven’s intended away.”

Now it’s time for Raven to blush, fiercely.

“I haven’t sparred in a long time.”

“Try not to break him.” Is the only thing Echo says. Raven kisses Shaw before he enters the ring and when did that happen?

As it happens, Shaw is a pretty decent fighter. Apparently, before cryosleep, he used to box, so he knows how to keep his guard up and his right hook is mean when it catches on her shoulder blade. But Clarke is agile, and she’s learned a few good moves over the years. So it isn’t really hard for her to gain the upper hand. Murphy and Raven cheer from the sidelines, and Echo shouts directions for them to improve.

It’s fun, even when she gets a bloody nose from a poorly blocked punch. Raven stuffs her nose with a handkerchief, while Murphy runs commentary and Shaw apologizes, profusely and repetitively.

“Shut up, Zeke,” grumbles Raven, fondly slapping his arm.

And Clarke feels herself laughing and, maybe, just maybe, like she, too could belong to this group.

 

That night, Raven invites Madi and her over to dine with the rest of Spacekru plus Shaw. Murphy cooked a stew with wild herbs and sweet potatoes, Monty provides the booze: a batch of berry-flavored moonshine that burns it’s way down her throat and spreads warmth in her belly.

The food is delicious, and the initial awkwardness melts nearly instantly away. This feels familiar, like putting on a pair of shoes she hasn’t worn in a while. Madi falls asleep on her thigh, and she knows she should carry the child to bed. She knows she should stop drinking, as well, but Monty’s telling the story about that time he accidentally put moonshine in the algae water and they ended all super drunk for a whole month straight, and she’s in stitches, laughing so hard tears are running down her cheeks.

Raven is practically on Shaw’s lap, cheeks bright red from the moonshine. Emori’s arm is loosely draped over Murphy’s shoulders – the young man staying impossibly quiet under her touch -, Harper brushes tears from her eyes and kisses Monty’s cheek.

Clarke’s eyes fall on Bellamy, only to find he’s already staring, a small frown on his face. She feels herself blush and looks away. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that he doesn’t.

“It’s late,” she says, hastily climbing to her feet, and scoping Madi up. Which is a bad idea, because she hasn’t been drunk in over six years and Madi is not a child anymore. She’s about to topple over, but Bellamy’s there, a big, warm hand on her shoulder, the other square on Madi’s back. “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

They walk in silence, mainly because Clarke needs all of her concentration to walk and hold Madi at the same time. When they reach her house, he takes the girl in his arms and sets her in her bed, and Clarke should say goodnight and fall face-first into her mattress. Instead, she walks him back to the door and nearly falls on him when she stumbles with her own feet.

Of course, he catches her, and she finds herself surrounded by his warm musky scent. She should pull back, but she burrows deeper into his shirt instead. “You don’t talk to me anymore.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I am sorry.” She’s talking to his sternum, pointedly not looking him in the face.

“You don’t need to apologize for being drunk.”

“I am sorry for ruining your relationship. And our friendship.” She feels him sigh.

“You didn’t…”

“But I did. And after everything you’ve done, I am so sorry!” She looks up to his collarbone – was it ever this bitable? – “Because without you I wouldn’t’ve survived and I was so happy to see you again, and now we never talk because I’ve broken…”

His mouth is suddenly on hers, chaste, warm and there. And it’s too much to process: his hand in her hair, his hand on her cheek, his beard raspy against her skin, his mouth soft and velvety, his body crowding her against the wall, enveloping her in the best way and Clarke aches for more.

She whimpers when he pulls back.

“Listen to me. What happened between Echo and me isn’t your fault. It’s not your fault that I feel the way I feel. I am sorry I’ve been distant these past few weeks. I was dealing with… some shit.” He kisses the top of her head. “But this is a conversation we need to have while you’re sober.

Clarke nods. “I am sober now,” she manages in what feels like a compelling tone. Bellamy smiles, soft and kind. His thumb caresses her cheek.

“Sure you are. But I am not.” Which is obviously a lie, but she appreciates it. “Go to bed, Clarke. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

She watches him walk away.

 

 

It’s mid-afternoon when Bellamy joins her by the lake the next day. He looks way better than she’s feeling. Back on the Ark her friend Glass always said she never remembered what happened when she drank. Clarke was never this lucky. She remembers everything she did and said the night before, which is one of the reasons she’s perched on the rocky wall overlooking the lake.

Bellamy ambles, his footing always sure even as he tests the rocks. He plops next to her on the rock and looks at him.

“How are you feeling?” he asks and Clarke forces herself to focus on something other than his lips.

“Fine. You?”

“Fine, too.”

“Look about last night…”

“We need to talk about this, Clarke.”

“Or we could just forget about it and start over.”

Bellamy huffs a laugh. “No, we definitely need to talk about it.” Clarke purses her lips and refuses to look at him. He sighs. “Ok, I’ll go first.” He takes a deep breath. “I missed my opportunity to tell you how I felt before Praimfaya. And then I thought you were dead and I had to live with that. For a while it was unbearable. But it got better with time. I fell in love again with Echo, and she’s…” he clears his throat. “I love her. But that doesn’t change the fact, that I love you, too. That no matter what I try, no matter what I do, I can’t get over you. I don’t want to. And I know the Clarke I love is not you. She’s the woman I left behind six years ago. But I would like to get to know you. I’d like to try and make this work.” He takes a deep breath. “Yeah. That’s about it.”

Clarke can’t look at him. “It was you.”

“What?”

“You asked me how I survived. It was thanks to you.” Clarke feels vulnerable and stupid saying those words out loud. “You kept me going. I had a radio, and I was so alone, so I talked to you. Pretended you could hear me, that you were here for me like you always were. That’s how I survived.”

She doesn’t tell him about those nights when she shivered alone in the dark, hungry, horny and cold. She doesn’t tell him that she imagined his hands tracing her body, that it was her voice she imagined. Maybe she’ll do it sometime, but for now, just revealing the bit about the radio feels like too much.

“You kept me alive through the desert, and when I failed to open the bunker, when the rover broke down and when Madi was ill, and when there wasn’t enough food. And then you came back and… The Bellamy I knew was never this happy. He wasn’t this sure of himself, he wasn’t this person that you are. And I am afraid I’ll destroy that.”

They sit in silence for a moment. “Yesterday you said you feel like it’s your fault that Echo and I broke up.”

“If I weren’t here you two would still be together.”

“That’s probably true.”

“See?”

“Then again, if you weren’t here, Echo would’ve died from that gunshot. As I said yesterday, it is not your fault. I mean it. We are all adults here.“

“I didn’t know I was in love with you.” She confesses. “And when I found out, I was so scared.”

She remembers that dread she felt when he said: “If I don’t come back.” Remembering Finn’s and Lexa’s blood all over her hands. She had been sure that he’d end up dead, too if she ever let him say those words. If she ever acknowledged those feelings.

Even now, six years later, there is still that lingering what if.

“The guy you were in love with doesn’t exist anymore.”

Clarke looks at him for the first time since he sat down. “I know. But I think I might like this one better.”

He smiles, the gesture changing his whole face and he’s so beautiful she aches. “Let's take this slow and see where it goes?”

“Baby steps.”

She nods. “Baby steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. ^^

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this trip down Echo-Lane. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting. 
> 
> (To those waiting on Monin hou, I'll try to have the chapter finished by Tuesday next week, but can't make any promises, because life, and because every time I make a promise, another WIP comes around, and I just watched Infinity Wars, and that fic is waiting to be written as well)
> 
> As always this was unbeta'd and has been slightly edited


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